


Mutually Beneficial Transaction

by AdamantSteve



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fuck Or Die, Kinda, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles needs to lose his virginity ASAP. Derek's kind enough to lend a helping uh... hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutually Beneficial Transaction

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when there were like two episodes of Teen Wolf where it seemed like Stiles (being a virgin) was gonna die because 'a serial killer' was killing virgins?  
> This fic is set right before they figure that whole thing out. 
> 
> Thanks to AnimeAnnie and Knitterfly for the betareads! I dicked around with it after you guys were done with it so please blame me if it's now riddled with mistakes.
> 
> Originally I had planned for an angstier resolution to this story but I went with a quick 'lets just be together forever' end instead. That's why Derek's so grumbly and gruff, it's cause he thinks this is all Stiles wants him for! But don't worry, it alllllll works out <3
> 
> This is my first Teen Wolf fic so please be kind :/  
> My tumblr is [here](http://adamantsteve.tumblr.com/) if you wanna hang out/say hi/talk about how much you wish Derek Hale had a hairy chest with me.

Stiles doesn't know why he bothers trying to lie to werewolves, but it's a habit long in the making to joke and bend the truth and explain things in his special indirect way, and one that's hard to shake off. 

 

So that's why Derek's glaring at him, all eyebrows and flaring nostrils, demanding to know why he's really there. And also why an increasingly nonsensical stream of bullshit is coming out of him.

 

The truth, as his beating heart so traitorously wants Derek to know, is that Stiles has an _idea_. Well, a favour. And not even really a favour, more like a mutually beneficial… transaction. 

"No wait," Stiles says, interrupting his own flow. "Not _transaction_ cause that's all sorts of illegal sounding. Though actually, I wonder who pays who when it's like…"

Derek pulls Stiles into the house with one hand and shuts the door with the other. _Finally_ , Stiles thinks, _perhaps he gets what I'm getting at and we can_ -

"What do you want?" 

 

Maybe not. 

 

"The sacrifices, or serial killer, or whatever it is. They're killing virgins." 

"I know." 

Stiles stops then, cause he doesn't want to _say it_ , and he's half sure Derek can just tell this kind of thing anyhow. Can't he just smell virgin-ness?

 

But Derek doesn't say anything, just quirks his eyebrows and folds his arms. 

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm a virgin, okay?" 

Derek shrugs. "So?" 

"So!" Stiles works his jaw a little, cause how do you say 'so, wanna fuck?' to someone who generally finds you incredibly irritating and could rip your throat out with little to no effort?

Derek's still looking at him with that concrete expression which gives nothing away. Stiles tries a different tack.

 

"Well I was just thinking, hey, who do I know who is single, and virile" ( _virile? what?_ ) "and uh, local… Who finds my irreverent humour at least slightly adorable?" 

 

Derek shrugs again. Goddamnit. 

 

"I'm talking about _you_ , you big… frown." 

 

Finally, Derek's face changes, but it's sort of taken aback and confused rather than whatever pornish expression Stiles had been hoping for. "Forget it, I'll just go walk through the woods and get murdered or whatever, it's fine." 

 

He turns to leave, feeling the red creeping up his neck before he even has a hand on the door. Stiles just wants to get out of this place and find a nice hole to fall into. He lets out a little yelp when the door's suddenly against his back and Derek's pressed against his front. 

 

"Uh…" Stiles begins, eyes flicking between Derek's eyes and down to his mouth. 

"Shut up," Derek says, blinking before the grip he has on Stiles loosens a little. Not enough to un-stick him from the door, but enough to stop his bones from crunching together. 

 

"Do you-" 

"I said shut up." 

Stiles snaps his mouth closed and presses his lips together. He's turned on and terrified all at once, which is par for the course whenever he's in ogling distance of Derek Hale but not usually with actual possibilities. Possible possibilities.

 

"Are you offering yourself to me?"

Stiles has been told to shut up, which wouldn't normally register, but still, he nods as quietly as he can. _Offering himself_ , jesus. 

Derek looks so suspicious, like Stiles is trying to sell something.  "Why me?" 

Stiles just shrugs as best he can in the confines of Derek's grip. "Figured you'd be amenable to the idea?"

 

He's still not sure what Derek's thinking here, so yeah, it's another white lie. Derek senses it though, narrowing his eyes and silently demanding the truth. 

He goes with something that _is_ the truth, but not the whole of it.

"Scott told me you like me," Stiles says, and he's rolling his eyes even as he says the words. But it's the truth and that's what counts. "And he's got, like, the whole super senses thing and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't fuck with me over this, so I figured I'd give it a shot." 

 

Derek looks at him for a long time before finally coming to a decision and nodding. "We do it my way."

He lets go of Stiles, who immediately trips over his own feet; impressive since he's standing still. "Really?" He says once the world isn't at a weird angle anymore. "That's great. Wow, thank you. I mean, I-" 

"Shut up," says Derek, cutting him off. "Go upstairs." 

 

Stiles is muttering nonsense as he goes up to the second floor he's thought about over countless lazy afternoons and long showers. It's just a bed, in the end. One huge bed with white sheets and pillows. Stiles had figured they'd be black for some reason, or maybe there wouldn't be sheets at all, just a grody old mattress with like, claw marks in it. There's some drawers and a stack of books on the floor to one side of the bed but not much else. No pictures or alarm clocks or any of the stuff Stiles is used to seeing in his other people’s bedrooms.

 

Stiles isn't sure what to do with himself now, does he get naked? Start jerking off? In porn, they always kinda skip past this part so he's not sure where Derek expects him to be. He's nervously sitting on the edge of the bed and tapping his feet when Derek starts his way up the stairs, and then he's _there_ , using that insane silent speed of his to push Stiles down on the bed and crawl over him. 

 

"Hey," Stiles says, swallowing. "I didn't know if-" 

He doesn't get to finish what he was saying because Derek's _kissing him_ , and he didn't sign up for that but he's not complaining because it's _searing_. He melts into the bed under the insistent press of Derek's tongue against his lips and the burn of stubble against his skin. 

 

There's a tearing sound, and movement, and it takes Stiles a minute to figure out that Derek just tore his shirt open. Off, in fact. He tore it all the way off. 

 _How'm I gonna get home?_ He thinks, though it's a quiet thought and it's way in the back of his mind. 

 

"I'm gonna fuck you," Derek says suddenly, and Stiles looks at him and swallows, cause Derek's looking at his now shirtless chest and licking his lips like he wants to eat him. It wasn't a question, but Stiles nods anyway, cause he's extremely ok with that plan.

 

"Sure," he says, "good idea… Thanks." He shakes his head at himself, cause who says that? But Derek is running his teeth over Stiles' ribs and doesn't seem to notice. His stubble _hurts_ , and Stiles is sure there'll be actual scabs all over his body if Derek keeps doing that, but at the same time that seems like it'd probably be _awesome._

 

Stiles' dick is tenting his pants, but he's forgotten it with all the sandpapering going on. Until, that is, Derek's hand just grabs his crotch and starts kneading, the heel of his hand rubbing up and down as he sucks a mark onto Stiles' belly. 

"This is embarrassing but I'm uh, I won't be able to stop myself from, uh, y'know," 

"Coming?" Derek replies, looking up Stiles' body with terrifyingly dark eyes. Stiles isn't sure what the criteria is for the whole virgin murder thing - if mutual orgasms count or there actually has to be some penetration involved, but he'd rather be safe than sorry, so premature ejaculation is definitely not what he wants to happen right now.

 

He nods his head and goes 'uh huh,' but it turns into a yelp when Derek yanks at his jeans. The button pops off and hits the ceiling before falling to the floor and rolling somewhere, but thankfully, Derek uses the zipper like a normal person, so the small voice in the back of Stiles' head is appeased that he might still be able to at least get home in them. 

 

Next to come off is Derek's shirt, which isn't treated to the same abuse as Stiles' was. He lays there, leaning up on his elbows as he watches Derek take off his own pants, again with more reverence for the fine art of undressing. He's looking at the mark he made on Stiles' belly, a red splotch that looks kind of like a strawberry, taking off his socks and tossing them into a corner before resuming his place on top of Stiles. Before he does that, though, Stiles gets an idea of exactly what resides inside Derek's black underwear, and it looks absolutely huge. 

 

"Please tell me that's a cucumber wrapped in tin foil," he says, but Derek's rasping his stubble over his neck and soothing the heat with his lips, so it's only the ceiling that seems to notice Stiles’ plea. Or perhaps not, cause Derek pauses and looks at him as he continues to babble away. "Y'know, like Spinal Tap?"

"It's my dick," Derek supplies helpfully, with the look on his face that says _you are an idiot._

 

Stiles is about to say something else, cause that's his perpetual state: about to say something else, but he doesn't get the chance cause he's been flipped onto his belly and his underpants are ripped off, and a pair of thumbs are pulling his asscheeks apart. Stiles squeaks, and he's about to say... something, but then something warm and wet is swiped over his asshole and the words turn into meaningless noise instead. 

 

This seems like such five star service, Stiles manages to think, face pressed into a pillow to stop the weird gaspy noises that all his words seem to turn into as Derek Hale fucking _rims_ him, and it feels so weird that he's only sure he likes it when Derek stops. Stubble grazes up over Stiles' back, right along his spine before teeth nip the back of his neck and a weight covers him. 

 

There's definitely something sliding up and down the wet cleft of Stiles' ass, but it feels too big to just be a dick, and he's scared to ask in case it turns out Derek has such a monster cock that it won't fit inside him, and he'll end up tied to a tree and dead three times over after all. Besides, it's good, whatever it is, just a hot slide that feels kinda great.

 

"Tell me again," Derek says, a whisper that sounds all wolfy and alpha regardless of how quiet it is. 

"T-tell you what?" 

"Tell me you want me to fuck you." 

Stiles makes a noise, which was meant to be 'yes, please go ahead and have your way with me' or something, which only nets him a sharp bite to the ear. " _Tell me_."

"Please," Stiles manages. "Do it. Fuck me already, c’mon." 

 

Derek groans right into his ear before levering his weight away to reach over Stiles, feeling around for a second before pulling out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms which is so long it never seems to end. 

 

Stiles half rolls over to watch Derek, who tears open a condom with his teeth before rolling it down his - yeah, pretty huge - dick. He slowly flicks his eyes up to where Stiles is watching him before leaning over and knocking him off balance onto his belly. Stiles'd protest except there's fingers and lube happening, and manhandling as Derek maneuvers Stiles' ass and thighs so he feels like he's on display. 

 

Stiles has experimented with his fingers before, and the odd unfortunate sharpie, but whatever's going on back there is nothing like either of those things. It's big and thick and hot, and there are thighs pressing up against the back of his own and hands that migrate between Stiles' hips and the small of his back, keeping his spine arched and his shoulders down. He feels hot and tingly and pinned, and he feels like he should feel scared of being so vulnerable except it’s _Derek_ , and somehow, Stiles knows he’s safer here than probably anywhere else he could be.

 

One hand scrapes up Stiles' back to cup the back of his neck and hold him there, pressed into the pillows, and he's glad of it since it means he doesn't need an excuse to whine into soft cotton and feathers and not make any kind of sense. It's happening - he's having sex, there's literally a dick in his ass and it feels weirdgood and sexy and not to mention: he's probably not gonna die a horrible death now. This is the best fucking idea Stiles has ever had.

 

Derek starts pulling back out and it makes Stiles start to panic, but then he's pushing back in and it feels a different kind of weird. Stiles is so turned on, and his cock is this uncomfortable lump underneath him that feels like it's being stroked from inside somehow, with every push and pull of Derek into and out of him. _Prostate_ , he think-says, another garbled bit of nonsense into the pillow. 

 

Derek must get tired of the muffled play-by-play, because his arms migrate to Stiles' sides and around him, under his chest, and then they're lifting him up and holding on as he keeps going, fucking Stiles where he's hugged against Derek's front, all hard muscles and harder cock.

 

Stiles' hands scrabble for his own dick but he's unable to reach past the tree-trunk arms around him. His garbled words become 'oh god, oh god' and other things along the same theme but more nonsensical as Derek fucks into him and holds on. 

 

"I can't, oh, can't, god," Stiles manages, cock swinging in the air in front of him. "Lemme-"

Derek growls and bites him on the shoulder, which shouldn't be as hot as it is, though he seems to understand, holding Stiles tighter with one arm whilst the other moves up to his mouth for a second before grabbing onto Stiles' dick and holding his hand there, pushing Stiles' body forward with his own thrusts so that Stiles fucks into his spit-slick fist. 

 

Stiles' brain gives up trying to make sense anymore, and he's aware of making noises but can't work out what they are or what he means them to be. He doesn't care though, because who needs words when everything he wants is happening right now and couldn't possibly get any better?

 

Stiles comes without warning, suddenly spurting into Derek's hand and making an incredibly undignified sound as he does so. Derek makes a sound that's similar though, so Stiles, as much as he notices, doesn't much care. He's still coming when Derek pulls out of him and flips him onto his back, all one swift movement that results in come spraying just about everywhere. 

 

And then Derek swipes his hand through the errant drops of come on Stiles' belly, scooping it up. Stiles twitches as he watches, like it's in slow motion as Derek licks his hand and stares him down, eyes flaring before he closes them, pulling off the condom and jerking his cock. He keeps his eyes closed as he keeps moving his hand, aiming his dick right at Stiles' belly, and yeah, why not, Stiles thinks, that's totally gay porn. He reaches out and wraps a hand around Derek's cock to help out, and it's a good idea apparently, since as soon as he touches Derek, his eyes flick open in surprise and he comes, hot white ropes striping over Stiles. 

 

Derek starts falling then, and Stiles thinks for one moment that he's dead - crushed to death by falling werewolf, but Derek stops himself short, maybe a quarter of an inch from Stiles' face. 

 

"Good?" Stiles asks, but Derek doesn't answer, he just kisses him instead, and Stiles can taste his own come on Derek's lips, which shouldn't be hot except it _really_ is. So hot he's moaning again; the thin barrier that's barely been keeping his babbling nonsense from spilling out has been pierced completely.

 

Derek moves, and Stiles thinks it's over, that he'll just, like, toss his ragged bits of clothing at him and grunt at him to get out, but all he's doing is rolling Stiles over and running a cloth over his belly, which apparently came from nowhere. Stiles is about to ask when he realises what it is - his t-shirt. He wants to protest but, well, he's not sure he's able to complain about anything right now. Or ever again. 

 

Derek pushes the rag, which is decidedly what that shirt is now, under a pillow and then he's back, and holy shit, Derek Hale likes to _spoon_. 

 

"Shut up," Derek says, apparently wise to what Stiles is thinking, gruff voice betrayed by the gentleness of his hands over Stiles' skin. "Stay here."

 

Stiles does as he's told. 

 

He wakes up some time later - it's dark so at least an hour or so, and Derek's still there, one arm and a leg keeping him trapped where he is. A mouth is pressed against the back of his neck, warm and soft.

 

"Derek?" Stiles says softly, which has the decidedly undesired effect of making the guy jump out of the bed in less than a second. 

Stiles rolls over and looks at him, watches Derek go through a number of stages between sleeping spooned up with a guy he just fucked to grumpy asshole werewolf who hates everyone. He suddenly seems more closed off than ever.

 

“What’s the matter?”

Derek looks as if he’s about to change, muscles jumping, like his body doesn’t know what to do with itself. He scowls at Stiles, but Stiles is familiar enough with Derek’s various flavours of scowl to know it’s one of uncertainty more than anything else.

He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t storm off either. “Do you want me to leave?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek replies with a whine in the back of his throat. “I shouldn’t’ve…” he throws a hand up, gesturing to the bed and its mussed sheets. Stiles in the middle of them.

 

“What? No! It was perfect! Are you feeling bad about it? Cause you shouldn’t. I mean, I might be working on an extremely limited sample but I can hands down say that was the best sex I’ve _ever_ had.”

Stiles is trying for levity, cause humour is always the easiest shield to hide behind, and right now, all he has is that and a thin sheet, but Derek’s face grows darker.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says all at once, like it’s been straining to get out of him. “I thought I could do this - give you what you needed and let you go but. I don’t want you to leave.” 

Stiles’ eyebrows climb ever higher as he slowly says, “ever?” 

Derek won’t meet his eyes as he bites off what looks like annoyance. “No,” he says eventually. “Of course you can leave. I just mean. I just.” 

“You want… you want me? Like… long term?” 

Derek stops moving then, eyes slowly finding Stiles’ and looking pale and guilty. It’s inappropriate to grin, but Stiles can’t help it. 

“ _You like me_!” he gasps. 

Derek rolls his eyes, but his own lips are curving into a smile that he’s obviously fighting. Stiles pulls the sheet around himself as he knee-walks to the edge of the bed. “You do. You do like me, don’t you?” 

“Unfortunately,” Derek says as he moves close enough for Stiles to wrap his arms around his waist. He’s soft now, and warm. Derek shivers and ever so softly rests his own hands on Stiles’ shoulders. 

 

Stiles rubs his nose over Derek’s belly and looks up, grinning. “Can I call you my boyfriend?” 

"Oh jesus." 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
